Flariel's Unorthodox Decorations
by Valentine's Riddle
Summary: Ever wondered where the Dragon Desk came from? Only Mogget and a longforgotten Abhorsen named Flariel remember. Completely random Oneshot. R&R, Nix fans!


**A/N: A friend of mine wanted a story about a previous, unmentioned Abhorsen that somehow tied into the trilogy itself. This isn't particularly well written- it was written in one go of about forty five minutes- but I might expand it and add some more detail if I ever feel so inclined!**

**Inspired by this passage:**

_**"A redwood table sat in the middle of the room, its legs scaled and beady-eyed, ornamental flames licking from the mouths of the dragon-heads that gripped each corner of the tabletop"

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Flariel's Unorthodox Decorations

Flariel had never really liked the desk. Too plain, with its construction of sturdy rowan, she didn't feel it pretty enough to take pride of place in the stunning redwood study- but she knew her father, the thirteenth Abhorsen, and one of the most horrifically boring people she knew, would consider it frivolous to put time and energy into redecorating when there were Dead to banish and free magic to rectify.

She could understand that opinion now. Flariel was a disappointing Abhorsen-in-Waiting, she knew. Too busy daydreaming and messing around with Charter magic to pay much attention to her duties, she was only now reaping her reward- she was trapped in her study by several free magic creatures.

"Good going" muttered a voice by her side. Verion was a snarky, patronising companion at the best of times, and the fact that he actually had a reason to be snotty was annoying Flariel more than she cared to admit. She chewed nervously on one long, black braid and tugged at the other while she tried to figure out what to do. "Get us trapped by Quiien in our own house. Idiot"

"Shut it, Verion" she muttered mutinously. The short albino-man by her side gave her an exasperated look as she glanced nervously upwards. The scratching at the trapdoor was getting louder, and she could feel the vibrations from the trapdoor at her feet getting harder as the Quiien began to increase their frenzied attack. She winced at the thought of the state the roof gardens and reading room would be in after an hour under siege. At least the creatures were small- she didn't fancy the idea of being trapped in the House as it collapsed.

"No" the man said, stamping one foot. "You've done stupid things before, Mistress Flariel, but _never_ as stupid as this. Docking at the House without even checking the boat for infiltrators? You're even thicker than your father!"

"So I _forgot_" said Flariel with a grimace. "They're not _that_ powerful!" the little man thumped his fist onto the ugly table with a yowl of annoyance.

"_Yet_!" he spat. "All they need is a drop of the Blood and they can combine their power! You won't be dealing with four miniature dragons then, Mistress Abhorsen-in-Waiting, but a forty-foot-high Free Magic monster!" Flariel gulped.

"There might still be time to call Father..."

"What do you think you can do, you stupid girl?" spat Verion. "Fly out the window? We're just going to have to deal with it ourselves before they get hold of you and destroy this House"

"Destroy the House?" squeaked Flariel.

"Or worse" muttered Verion.

"So" said Flariel, trying to be matter of fact. "I'll just have to bind them. Lucky we're in the Library, eh?"

"Very" said Verion sardonically. "A room full of flammable objects. _Great_" but Flariel didn't listen. She had immediately rushed over to a shelf dedicated to bestiaries, and within about ten seconds had extracted a book entitled _Cry__tures of the Kyngdom_, a small suede-bound volume decorated with woodcut prints of various creatures and Charter Marks. But she had barely begun to flick the pages when a crack from the ceiling and a small spiral of dust made the girl and the albino glance quickly at the ceiling.

"I can smell Free Magic!" said Verion, with more than a touch of panic in his voice.

"Alright, alright!" said Flariel, flicking through the pages of the book, glancing at the pictures.

"Here! Wait, an Mbanna? Do you think that's what we call a Quiien?"

"Yes" said Verion, who was holding the trapdoor shut with an immense force of will. "Hurry up and learn how to bind it!"

"Yes, yes, I know... _the Mbanna is a cons__truct of ice-fyre and the essens__ o__f natyure, the easy__est method of temporarily dysposyng of such a cryture being the thistle-girdled spyr... _damn, I don't have a thistle here... wait... _whyle such a method is easyest for the caster, the permanent waye beest the one I have essayed and recorded in the pages below... _Oh, get on with it!- wait, here... _entrapment in a construct of nature, byndyng wooden, or of stone or flesh, of a substance of longevity, unless it is to be a byn__d__ying of short__ened__ tyme..._nothing of stone, but- wood! I could use the desk! And I can use my sword to perform the usual binding...yes..." Verion gave her an unreadable look, and in that second, the creature took its chance. With a _bang_, the creature dropped like a stone to the floor, and Flariel lunged for her sword. It looked scarier, Flariel realised, a combination between a snake and a dragon, with claws and teeth dripping unnaturally red flames. The nauseating smell of Free Magic rolled off it in waves, and its footfalls left black, steaming imprints on the beautiful carpet.

"I only have one object" she said, brandishing her sword to keep the snarling creature at arm's length. "I must use the same binding spell on them all, which means I'll need to link them all with the first Mark" Verion nodded, but she didn't notice as she leapt back with a shriek as the Quiien spat several globs of some flaming, tarry substance at her. Beginning to form a chain of protective Marks in her mind, her fight with the impossibly strong Quiien now relied on the instincts drummed into her during those long summers spent with the Guard, being trained along the Prince and his younger sister. Her parries strengthened when she thought of Prince Eltalion, laughing as the two fought their way up and down the stairways of the Palace. Blade met scaly flesh, with a shower of red and black sparks, which landed on the carpet, sending out rivulets of frost. She tried to avoid the sparks, but inevitably some touched her- and she had the strange sensation that her flesh was dying, bit by bit.

"Don't let it touch you!" said Verion. "Ice fire spreads paralysis through your body within seconds." She nodded, speaking the last Charter mark of the chain and feeling it counter the Free Magic attacking her body. With a quick Charter-spell she opened the trapdoor below. There was a smash and the other three of the group flew through the trapdoor, like so much as reptilian dogs, fangs dripping. "Verion, give them some blood!" she said.

"I hope you have a plan" said Verion dryly, before obediently biting his wrist and flinging it out to the side, so that droplets of warm blood flew through the air. Flariel took a step back, keeping her sword outstretched, and gulped as she saw what the magical blood was doing to the Quiien- they were slowing, slightly sluggish, as though bloated by this sudden nutrition, but they were also _growing_, their bodies swelling to fill the space.

"They need to be touching!" she said, in response to Verion's raised eyebrow.

"Well, they are!" he spat, "so _hurry up_!" she nodded, and stretched her sword to touch the largest Quiien, in the middle. She took a moment to get used to the nauseating bite of Free Magic in the back of her throat, and then spoke the first Master Mark, feeling its power as it rolled off her tongue and into the Quiien. It took her a few seconds to realise that they had actually frozen, and then, as though afraid the spell would wear off, she sent the next Charter Mark down the blade so fast she almost lost control. However, it hit the Quiien, and she gaped in amazement as the flesh of one, then two, then all four of the dragons began to crack and fall apart, exposing black and red flames where their insides should be. She could feel the freezing paralysis touch her, and fought to move her lips, to send the third Master Mark down into the column of twisted, freezing fire.

For a second, nothing happened, and then, slowly, the fire began to dim, to shrink. In seconds, there were four inch-wide blobs of red light glowing benignly on the floor. Not thinking, she reached forward to roll one over to the desk, and then shrieked when it touched her hand- all feeling left, and her hand would not move. Taking the sword, she rolled each ball of light to a leg of the desk, Marks on her sword flaring in seeming distaste, so they were touching, and then, wincing at the unpleasant feeling of life returning to her hand, she looked to see when it was right for her to speak the final mark.

She looked, with eyes narrowed, at the balls of light, as they quivered on the floor. Was she wrong? What if you couldn't bind four creatures in the same object? But all her doubts were assuaged when the lights, as one, began to roll up the table leg, getting absorbed into the wood. Her eyes widened, as a red wash spread over the table, and she lifted her sword, ready to speak the final Mark. But in the instant before she spoke, she realised she wasn't quick enough.

With a squealing creak, four dragons began to emerge from the wood, each scaling a leg, and then four gouts of flame materialised. With a shriek, she slammed her sword onto the table and spoke the final Mark. A huge gout of black smoke erupted from the table, and Flariel was lost from sight in the darkness.

"Not particularly orthodox" said Verion, sticking his head through the trapdoor a few moments later, "But it does seem to have worked rather well, I must admit"

"It did, didn't it?" said Flariel, laughing, as she eyed up the table. Now of a luxurious shiny redwood, a dragon crawled up each leg, spewing wooden flames. "And it matches the decorations"

"Daddy _will _be pleased" said Verion with a snicker. "I'm sure he'll love what they did to the carpet, too"

"Damn!" said Flariel, raising her fingers in a spell-casting stance, but with a marginally less sarcastic laugh, Verion grasped her arm before it had risen.

"Leave it for the sendings. I think you could do with some dinner"

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**A/N: Well, I'm not entirely happy with it myself, but what do you think? **

**Everything but Flariel and the Quiien belongs entirely to the wonderful Garth Nix.**

**Riddle x**


End file.
